Cowboys in New York
by Pegasus M
Summary: Sharpshooter Alex Clayborne learns that it is difficult to escape his past in Arizona. That is, until he loses himself in the bustling city of New York. Rewrite.
1. The Legendary Claybornes

_**Title**__: Cowboys in New York_

_**Author**__: Pegasus_

_**Rating**__: T (some cursing and foul-mouthing)_

_**Summary**__[rewrite Introducing legendary sharpshooter, Spikes "Big Shot" Clayborne to New York City. Alex was born and raised in the great open West but an enemy's threat moves his life to the bustling city of the East._

_**Author's Notes**__: This story was begun in 2002, completed in 2002, and lost since 2003(?) (stupid computer breakdown). I managed to find the first half of the story through old emails so here it is, rewritten! This rewritten chapter is actually a lot different than the original chapter. I finally decided to post it, in a sort of tribute to the release of _3:10 toYuma_ on DVD, haha. Reviews are welcome!_

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own the Newsies – the movie and the characters associated with it belong to Walt Disney._

- - - - - -

**Chapter One**

**The Legendary Claybornes**

_Virginia, December 1899_

He shrugged out of the heavy winter coat and tossed it onto the wooden fence. The suffocating coat had been itching against his skin; he rubbed his neck, still feeling the prickling of the tweed material. Walking towards the open field, he cast his eyes to the sky. There was no blazing sun here. Instead, there was only a thick covering of unmoving gray clouds. They had been taunting him for days, immobile, drowning his hopes of seeing a glimpse of a single glimmering, golden ray. A puff of hot air escaped his lips as he sighed despondently. He focused on the target ahead of him – the battered, wooden target he used for practice was the only object of familiarity in this new world. In his hand he held the cold metal, his thumb slowly tracing the ridges until it rested on the flat knob. _Click_. As soon as he pushed down on it, his arm shot up and a blast echoed through the air. _Click_.

"Perfect shot," came a voice from behind him.

He turned his head towards the voice. Without looking back at the target, he pulled the trigger and fired. "As always," he replied with a grin. He dropped his arm to his side and walked towards his brother.

"You deserve that nickname of yours, Big Shot," his brother said with a chuckle. He was stacking wood to bring into the house for the fireplace.

"Aw c'mon, Cole, don't give me all the credit. Us Claybornes are all sharpshooters," he said. "Need help with that?" he asked, nodding towards the freshly chopped lumber.

Before Cole could answer, the two lifted their heads upwards when they heard a window sliding open from the second floor. Their mother poked her head out. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tidy bun at the back of her nape. She was wearing a yellow apron stained with sprinkles of flour. "Cole, I - Alex, why aren't you wearing your coat? You'll catch a cold!" she exclaimed. She narrowed her eyes. "Put it on," she ordered.

"Yeah okay, Ma," he answered. Alex looked dejectedly towards the coat hanging on the fence. He _was_ freezing, he realized. But between the thorned coat and the biting cold, he was willing to take his chances with the weather. Alex glanced up at his mother. She obviously thought otherwise. He trudged towards the fence and reluctantly slipped his arms into the itchy tweed.

Mrs. Clayborne watched her youngest son closely as he closed every single button of his coat. When she was satisfied, she nodded and said, "Now help your older brothers with the firewood." With that, she shut the window and retreated back into the house.

Cole studied Alex as he lifted a large stack of wood. His younger brother was stubbornly unwilling to adapt to their new home, their new life in Virginia. Alex loved their home in Arizona, they all did. It was where their mother had read them stories on the house porch, where the family watched the sun set every evening. Where there would be no need for stuffy coats made of porcupine needles. "You're shivering," Cole observed.

"Wha – yeah. I'm fine. But it's this damned thing," he said, indicating the coat. "It keeps raking at my skin. I don't know how you guys stand it."

Cole shrugged. "You get used to it."

Alex suddenly stopped his brother. With a serious tone he said, "You know, we could've taken 'em."

His brother gave him a stern frown. "We've talked about this. What we're doing is best for the family."

"For God's sakes, _I_ could've taken 'em. The bastard's a lousy shot, always has been --"

"Alex. What's done is done. Forget it, all right?"

"To hell and damnation I will." He picked up a large stack of cut wood and followed his brother into the house. "It's not over," Alex warned.

"Don't talk about this in front of Ma. She'll have one of her panic attacks again," Cole replied, ignoring the warning.

"And Dad will have your ass if you make Ma cry."

Cole and Alex turned towards Iain, the first born of the four Clayborne brothers. Iain strolled towards them with several bags in his arms.

"You're kidding? She made you go buy groceries?" Alex asked, staring at the bags.

"It was Trey's turn," Iain muttered. "But he's sick all of a sudden," he added with an edge to his voice.

Alex wondered what it was that had his older brother ticked off. He was usually the level-headed one of the group. The complete opposite of Alex, Iain always thought things through before taking action. Perhaps as the oldest of four brothers, Iain could not afford to be impulsive and irrational. Even second born, Trey "The Prankster" Clayborne, was not enough to set Iain off.

The three young men made it to the backyard door. Iain shifted the bags to his left arm and reached for the door with his right when suddenly the door clattered with a loud _bang!_ The brothers visibly jumped at the sound and each reached for their pockets. Up to a few weeks before there would have been a gun holster hanging there, but now their hands grasped at the air. Trey stood on the opposite side of the screened door with a wide grin on his face. His hands were still placed on the screen where he had shaken the rickety door.

"Look at you guys. Stopped you cold, didn't I?"

"Shit, Trey," Alex breathed, releasing the tension that had built up in that one second.

"Watch your mouth, young man," Trey said with false authority. "Anyway, Ma's gonna have a fit if you three walk into the kitchen with the mud on your shoes. Trust me, you don't wanna come through this way. My ears are still ringing from when I made that mistake."

Iain and Cole turned away from the door to enter the house through the front door. Alex leaned in towards the door. "You really sick?"

"Hell no. I just didn't want to go _the store_," Trey whispered. He emphasized "the store" as though it were an ominous place.

"What's so bad about going to the damn store," Alex questioned with a raised brow.

"Ah, little brother. You still haven't gone to _the store_ yet. Well," Trey said, "let's just say there's a whole bunch of 'em Virginia leeches at _the store_."

"Virginia leeches?"

"Go see for yourself," Trey said, nodding towards the direction his brothers had gone.

Alex gave his brother a curious glace before jogging to catch up to Iain and Cole. As he headed towards the front of the house, he thought he heard a collective sigh from ahead. He caught a whiff of a heady scent of perfume. And he slowed down. _Virginia leeches_, Alex finally realized. He saw them – a group of all the eligible young ladies of Virginia had gathered at their door. Their eyes had been following Iain and Cole as they turned the corner from the side of the house. The fawning ladies greeted them enthusiastically. The two brothers smiled politely and nodded. The ladies practically melted, despite the cold weather. Alex's older brothers – Iain at twenty four, Trey at twenty two and Cole at twenty years old – mostly took after their father physically: dirty blond hair, square jaw, a tall physique with rounded muscles. Iain and Cole inherited their father's hazel eyes as well. Alex, on the other hand, had a mat of unruly, straight brown hair that refused to stay flat against his head no matter what he tried. He did not have the full-bodied, strong physical form of his brothers. He was certainly tall and had wide shoulders, but he was more sinewy in form, his muscles taut. Trey and he inherited their mother's green eyes; though Trey's green eyes always had a merry glint, Alex's was a more intense shade under his dark brows.

He came into their view and saw the ladies' attention immediately shift towards him.

"Alexander Clayborne," one girl said dreamily.

He discreetly scanned the group and breathed a sigh of relief. _She_ was not there, at least. Alex, like his brothers had done, nodded and pursed his lips into what he thought was a polite smile.

"Look at that gorgeous dimple," another giggled.

At the safety of the front door, Alex turned halfway towards the ladies. "You ladies should be getting home," he said and hinted at the darkening sky with his eyes. "It's getting dark."

"Oh, and he's thoughtful, too…"

"He's so wonderful…"

Alex, inside the house, shut the door and snapped all the locks into place. Trey was waiting for him at the door to the kitchen. He pointed towards the door. "Virginia leeches," he said. Trey helped him place the lumber near the fireplace in the living room. They walked into to the kitchen where Mrs. Clayborne was making the final preparations for dinner. The smell of hot food was heavy and filled the entire house.

"You can thank your handsome brother Iain for attracting the leeches," Trey said as he sat down at the rectangular dinner table.

"Dammit, Iain, why do you always have to attract the ladies?" Cole teased.

"Quit it, the both of you," Iain said with a hint of a smile that contradicted his words.

_So that was what had ticked him off_, Alex thought. He had been followed all the way from the store to their home. And with the heavy tension that had been surrounding the family in recent days, any sort of stalking business was of a deep concern. Even if it was just a bunch of young girls. _Are we just getting paranoid?_

"Trey, dear, I wish you'd stop calling those lovely young ladies 'leeches,'" Mrs. Clayborne interrupted.

"They're hardly lovely, Ma," said Alex as he helped her set the table.

"They drool," Cole added, shaking his head as he stole a biscuit off the plate their mother had just placed on the table. "They ain't like the girls out West."

"Hell no, they ain't," Trey agreed.

"I think it's perfect," Mrs. Clayborne said. "You boys'll need to settle down someday, afterall."

Trey made a face. "With one of them? Count me out."

"Iain'll be the first to go anyway. You can suffer first," Cole said to him.

"The hell I'm going first. Besides," Iain said, looking at Alex, "I think Alex already has a broad."

"What?" exclaimed Cole.

"Shit, really?"

"Trey!"

"Sorry, Ma."

Mrs. Clayborne turned her attention to Alex who had finally taken a seat at the table next to Iain. "Well, Alex! Why haven't you invited her to dinner?"

"She ain't my broad. She's a psycho," he said simply.

"Who's a psycho?" Mr. Clayborne entered the kitchen. He was a robust man in his fifties. Time had been kind to him for he still retained the good looks of his youth and his gray hair and wrinkles only softened his sharp features. He was happily greeted by the family as he took his place at the head of the table.

"Hey Dad. Cindy McDonohay," Alex answered.

"Ah, the McDonohays," Mr. Clayborne said, recognizing the name. "Good reputation, they have."

"Too bad they've got a ditzy daughter," Alex mumbled.

"Alex," Mrs. Clayborne warned.

"Sorry, Ma," he apologized. "But it's true."

The brothers shared a laugh and the family eagerly commenced their dinner of roast chicken, soft biscuits, corn and steaming mashed potatoes. At least the meals were still just as good as they were back in Arizona.


	2. Winter Wonderland

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own the Newsies – the movie and the characters associated with it belong to Walt Disney._

**- - - - - -**

**Chapter Two**  
**Winter Wonderland**

_Frank's Saloon was one of the last of its kind under the Arizona sun. Frank himself was now well into his sixties but his mind and eyes were still as sharp as ever. The saloon was famous for having catered to several famous cowboys and sharpshooters in its days._

_There was one now. Little Big Shot, Frank called him jokingly in that wheezy voice of his. It was a fitting nickname. The kid had proven himself a rare talent at the age of twelve when he first took aim at an empty bottle. He had seen his older brothers lazily challenging each other during a target game and wanted to try for himself. He had grabbed his father's revolver from the bedroom drawer, ran outside, steadied his arm and pulled the trigger. The glass shattered._

_His father had been in an angry rage. It's dangerous to practice for the first time on your own, son, he shouted. His brothers had been in awe. Trey had been giving him some minor pointers. His fragile mother nearly had a heart attack. He's just twelve, she had reprimanded in a near faint. But it was no use. The legend had already begun._

- - - - -

When he opened his eyes the next morning, he found himself immobile, hypnotized by the view outside his window. Slowly, he lifted himself into a sitting position. _Well, would you look at that…_

Within minutes, Alex dressed himself, even pulled on the winter coat without hesitation, and raced out of his room and down the stairs. His footsteps thudded throughout the quiet house, which meant that his brothers were not up yet. Alex spurred into the kitchen where his mother was already at the stove cooking breakfast.

"Morning, Ma." He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Did you take a look outside?"

"Of course, dear. It was the first thing I saw," she said softly. "Isn't it beautiful?" The two gazed at the window in wonder.

"Yeah," he drawled. "Mind if I go out?" he asked, buttoning his coat.

"Sure dear, just put on --" she stopped and looked at him in surprise, "—your coat."

Alex grinned at the stunned look on his mother's face before pulling open the backdoor. He stepped out into a pile of white powder that came up to his ankles. He held out his right hand, palm up, as the flakes fell gracefully from the sky. They melted the instant they made contact with his warm, outstretched hand.

_So this was snow_.

From inside the house, Mrs. Clayborne watched her son through the window as she placed the plates on the table. It had been a long time since she had seen him smile the way he was doing right now. He had not been as lively since before the family left Arizona. She walked over to the window and prayed, prayed that that smile would stay on her precious son's face. No more fights, no more violence, no more tension.

"Hi, Ma," said Cole as he entered the kitchen. He dramatically inhaled the aroma of food. "My favorite. Pancakes?"

Mrs. Clayborne laughed. "You know it is."

Cole strolled next to his mother by the window.

"You think he'll be all right?" she asked worriedly.

Cole reassuringly put his arms around his petite mother. "He's getting used to it."

Outside, Alex stared at the wooden target that stood proudly in the distance at the outer edge of their immense backyard. It was capped with a layer of snow.

- - - - - -

That evening, Alex pulled out two smaller pistols for practice shooting. Each shot rang through the air and hit the center of the target. He walked across the backyard towards the target and examined his shots. The bullets were all concentrated in the center. Not a single mark scratched the outer rings. "You know, I'm getting tired of shooting at the same target," he said as he walked back to where his brothers were lounging. The snow had stopped falling, but the accumulation still remained on the ground.

"You know Ma would like it if you stopped practicing your shot," Iain said.

"I've been shooting from different angles, running and shooting – what?"

"Uh-oh, Iain. You've touched on Big Shot's nerve," Trey cautioned.

"Iain's right, though. We don't need our guns for protection anymore," Cole said. "We've put ours away."

"I'm telling you, it's not over. Scar and his gang – they're never going to stop," Alex said, frustrated. "And we can't take our chances and just sit around like everything's all right because it's not."

"Mr. James said this was the safest place in the state," said Cole.

"We've traveled across the country, Alex. Even Scar wouldn't take the chance of doing that," Trey said seriously. "Unless he was really mad about something."

Alex stayed silent. The three brothers studied him, expecting some sort of retort.

"Shit, Alex," Trey grimaced. "Tell me you didn't do something stupid."

"I didn't. The bastard challenged me to a shootout. He was the stupid one."

"Did you accept?"

"No… no, I didn't," he answered numbly. He sat down on the ground and leaned against a tree trunk. Absentmindedly, he began to spin the pair of guns around his fingers. He was deep in thought when he distractedly mumbled, "I need a moving target."

"Oh Alexander!" came a high-pitched shriek to his right. Alex snapped out of his thoughts.

"Speaking of moving targets," Alex muttered as he braced himself. "Not again," he said under his breath, slowly tilting his head around to meet Cindy McDonohay's presence. How he wished he could point his gun in her direction. Maybe that would send her running away from him.

A small figure headed towards him – a lady with strawberry blond hair carefully pinned and curled to perfection. She was wearing a pale pink dress, tailored with mass amounts of lace and ruffles. She had on some sort of coat that looked like she had an animal draped over her shoulders.

"Alexander! Alexander!" she said as she rushed towards him, picking up her skirts to avoid tripping on them.

"Yeah?" Alex drawled in annoyance.

"Alexander! Oh, you'll never believe what I heard today! I heard from Linda Kindsley who heard from Kelly Ramblain who heard from Tina Tenseltin who overheard a conversation between Robert Laughton and his fiancée, Felina Gatling…" she took a breath before she announced, "That they're not going to go through with the engagement! Do you know what that means? It means the wedding is cancelled," she squealed. "Oh isn't it just _scandalous_? I can't wait to tell Lise! Oh!" she exclaimed as she strung her arm through Alex's. "You _must_ escort me over to Lise's home! I can't wait any longer to tell her!"

He ignored her babbling. "You're trespassing, you know that?" He shot her an annoyed glance when Cindy tugged at his arm insistently.

She giggled. "You are just too much, Alexander."

Alex turned to his brothers, his eyes pleading for help. _Save me_, he mouthed as Cindy dragged him out of the backyard. Iain and Cole just grinned at him. They were enjoying watching their little brother suffer. At least they were trying to hold their laughter in. Trey was practically on the ground, clutching his stomach in hysterics.

She managed to pull him away from the house and onto the dirt path leading to the heart of town.

"Oh dear," she said when she caught a glimpse of the gun in Alex's hand. He quickly placed them in his pockets. He may dislike her but he still had his manners. "I don't think this shooting target whatnot is very good for you. Gentlemen do not shoot. They… mingle. And of course they are very… gentleman-like," she said giggling.

"Women mingle," Alex informed her. "Men… don't."

"Oh, don't be silly! You just don't know what gentleman do. It's because you're from out west. They're _barbaric_ out there, aren't they? Don't worry though, once we're engaged, you'll have to be a gentleman! And we'll also have to do something about that unusual hair of yours, too," she added, regarding Alex's unmanageable hair. "In fact, I bought you a gift," she said, whipping around to face him.

He noticed that her hands were behind her back.

"Close your eyes," Cindy said with a wide smile.

"No."

"Oh, _please_?"

"No."

"_Plea_--"

"No."

She gave up. "Fine." She looked up at him with her round blue eyes. He knew she thought she was being cute. "Ready? Ta-da!" She placed a bowler hat atop his head. "There, you look like a gentleman already!"

She was beaming at him.

He was going to shoot her.

Lise Honey's home was located in the center of town, whereas the Claybornes lived in the outskirts, near the forest. He knew Cindy McDonohay had purposely ordered her coachman to drop her in front of the Clayborne's home just so she could force Alex to walk her back to town. It wasn't the first time she had done so. Cindy chatted in that high pitched squeak of hers the entire way. Alex already felt the comings of a headache.

"Oh look, we're here already," she said, pouting. Clearly she wanted to spend more time with him.

"All right, g'night."

"Alexander!"

"What?"

"Gentlemen kiss their ladies on the cheek when they part ways," she told him. She pointed at her cheek expectantly.

_She's kidding_. Alex chuckled in disbelief. He slowly leaned in towards her with a sardonic smile. "I'm not a gentleman, Miss Mcdonohay," he whispered.

Cindy gasped and her hand fluttered to her chest. "O-oh Alexander, I-I'm not that kind of woman," she sputtered. "But if you must --"

"And you're not my broad." With that, he turned on his heels and walked away from her. He vaguely heard her say something about the word "broad" being a barbaric term as he left. He sighed. Alex was as charming and as charismatic as he could be with all the other frivolous women in town, but with Cindy McDonohay, it was an entirely different story. She really was a Virginia leech.


	3. The End

**Chapter Three**  
**The End**

He had wasted nearly two hours with Cindy, but Alex took his time getting back home, reveling in the way the snow crunched softly under his boots. It was a new sensation, vastly different from the hot, sandy pebbles of his Arizona home. As he compared the two places in his head – Virginia, his new home, and Arizona, where his heart belonged – he felt a wave of nostalgia. Out in Arizona, there was excitement. Or danger, as his mother liked to call it. Out in Arizona, there was a sort of freedom that was lost on Virginians. This Virginian town felt too small and constraining.

But it was safe, Alex reasoned. He sighed and tried to push aside his thoughts of Arizona.

He heard the sounds of struggle almost too late as he walked past the darkened alleyway between two convenience stores. He paused for a moment, straining to hear the sounds again, wondering if he had just imagined them. Walking backwards, he tried to peek in the alley casually, but the darkness blanketed the small path. Before he could stop to think, he found himself cautiously stepping into the narrow space to investigate.

He had only taken several steps before feeling a cold, hard object pressed against his forehead. His vision had not yet focused in on the darkness.

"Shouldn't be pokin' yer nose 'round other people's business, boy," he heard a raspy voice say. A thoughtful silence. "Hmm, fancy hat," the voice said, and Alex felt the new bowler hat from Cindy McDonohay being swiped off his head. He almost shuddered from the sudden wintry wind that blew through his uncovered head.

Alex was about to retort when he was interrupted by cynical laughter. A chill ran up his spine then. He knew that laugh. Desperately, he narrowed his eyes, trying to will them to see past the shadows. And as soon as his eyes adjusted to the dark, his body tensed. He gritted his teeth as rage rapidly flooded all his senses.

"Well, look at what we got here." He heard the laugh again. "Muggs, get rid of yer gun. Lemme take a good look at this kid."

Alex felt his presence before he could see him.

_Scar._

He sauntered up to Alex with a condescending grin on his face. "Well, look at that. Big Shot. We meet again. Been a long time. Looks like you got taller," he added sarcastically. "Bet ya didn't know we were in town?" He said in a singsong tone. Despite the little light penetrating the alley, Alex could now see Scar's dark eyes and shaggy brown hair. His tanned skin was dimpled with marks of dirty fist fights.

Scar chuckled when Alex spit in his face. He wiped the side of his face with the back of his grubby hand.

"What the hell are you doin' here, Scar? Shouldn't you be out west in your territory with the rest of your uglies?" Alex shot back intensely.

Scar actually hooted then. He enjoyed the challenge this young boy presented. This Alex "Big Shot" Clayborne had fast become known throughout the entire west as being one of the greatest sharpshooters ever to live. Better than men twice his age, men who had more experience. A sort of prodigy, people called him. He had a gift. Well, Scar couldn't have that. Scar had his own reputation to uphold. And he was not about to be overshadowed by some runt of a kid. If this Clayborne kid was the greatest to ever live, then he would just have to die.

"Don't you worry, _Big Shot_, we're leaving for home tonight. This town just don't have the same… air, like back at good ol' Arizona." He gave a mocking bow. "Our business here is almost over." He snapped his fingers. "Just one more Clayborne to go…"

Alex's eyes widened. "The hell--" he started when he noticed one of the gang members reaching into his coat pocket. Alex quickly drew his gun and fired at the man's hand.

"_Shit_!" he screamed in agony.

So rapid was Alex's movement that Scar was caught off guard – he had no idea that the shot came from Alex, not from one of his own gang. Scar took his attention off Alex when the man yelped, and Alex took that chance to dash out of the alleyway.

Panic clouded his nerves; he couldn't make himself run fast enough. Scar's last words echoed in his mind. _Just one more Clayborne to go…_. He was slipping on the snow. His surroundings blurred as he sped off the path and towards the trees, a flicker of consciousness telling him that it would be faster that way. He couldn't breathe. Oxygen hit his heaving lungs like icicles. He ran and hacked away at the shrubbery and branches that seemed to claw at him, tearing at his clothes. He didn't feel the scratches. All he knew was that he had to protect his family. It was his responsibility. Alex had to reach them, save them, before it was too late.

It seemed like hours before he reached his house.

As he neared the Claybornes home, he was shocked to hear faint shouts. Orders. Cries. A column of black smoke rose over the treetops. He knew in the back of his mind that it was coming from his family's house. But hope placed him in denial.

_No, it can't be_, he thought desperately.

"Alexander, Alexander, thank goodness you're all right," he heard. Alex shifted his head towards the voice. It was his neighbor, he couldn't remember his name at the moment.

"My family --" Alex managed between breaths.

"It's too late, I'm afraid --"

Alex ran towards the house before the old man could finish his words. _It wasn't too late_, he kept repeating to himself. _His brothers had been outside, they weren't inside the house. They weren't inside the house. His family was strong. His brothers were strong. Trey…_

He was grabbed and stopped by several people when he tried to force his way into the burning building. "It's too late!" came the cries. Finally, a pair of hands seized his shoulders and shook him roughly. "Godammit, Alexander Clayborne, look at me!" It was the same neighbor. James. Mr. James. _How could he have forgotten a name so simple_?

"Come on, Clayborne. Look at me, all right? Look at me! You can't save your family, godammit - they're dead. They were shot before the house was set on fire… see? You can't save them," Mr. James tried to explain as he tried to hold the boy still.

"I'm so sorry, dear," a woman sobbed.

"Such a tragedy," came another whisper.

Alex stood frozen. _Dead_. He considered the word, turning it over in his mind as though it were foreign, as though he didn't know the meaning of it. His family was so full of life. His brothers had all met his eyes before he left, laughing. They were supposed to be content here. Secure and away from the ruthlessness of the West. He looked dumbly at Mr. James. "Shot?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so, m'boy."

Images flurried through Alex's mind until it rested on a single, blemished face. Scar. _The bastard had hell to pay_. Alex struggled free, twisting himself out of the chain of hands that held him. He sprinted away from the house.

"Clayborne!" came a shout from behind.

Alex heard nothing but his own fury roaring through his veins. All he knew was that Scar and his gang would be heading back west that night. And that meant he would find them at the train yards. He was not thinking about what he would do if he found the gang. All his energy were focused on just finding them.

He felt the adrenaline rushing through his body. It only took him several minutes to reach the garage of trains. He jumped over the fence and searched for any sign of Scar and his followers. He violently pulled open train car doors. There was nothing but cargo. He was sweating and panting despite the bitter winter wind. He ran a hand through his dark hair, which was now wet from perspiration. It had begun to snow again.

Alex was so hell-bent in finding the murderers that he did not realize he was being followed. He felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around.

"Lookin' for me?" Scar sneered.

"You bastard. You'll pay for --" Alex began heatedly, reaching inside his jacket.

"—for what? For your family? If I ain't mistaken," Scar leaned in close to Alex's face. He whispered, "you killed your family. _You_ killed the Claybornes." He laughed cruelly.

Alex lost his intensity then. His green eyes widened and his hands dropped helplessly to his sides; a puff of air escaped his lips, stunned, like he had been hit in the stomach. Scar had played on the child's weakness. And he took advantage of his opponent's momentary confusion.

He swung a club directly at Alex's head and laughed when he felt it connect with his target, resounding in a loud thump.

Alex fell limply to the snow covered ground. Scar cocked his head to the side, a half-smile crossing his face. He relished in his victory and kicked the boy in the stomach for good measure and to satisfy his own ego.

"Nice job, boss. What we gonna do with him now?" Muggs asked, coming up from behind Scar. The gang member looked down at Big Shot's motionless body.

Scar thought for a moment. "Pick him up and toss 'im in that train," Scar ordered. _Like the garbage that he is_, he thought. He pointed toward one of the train cars when the gang hesitated. "Now!"

"All right, all right," Muggs complied, waving for the others to help him.

The members picked up his body and threw him into the train car. They slammed the door shut and turned to face their leader.

"All right, boys. Let's go," Scar said, his tone gruff, commanding. "That boy don't got a chance in hell." He led them to the opposite tracks heading westward.

No one knew about the legendary young man aboard the train - no one knew about Alex "Big Shot" Clayborne laying crumpled in the cargo car. The train was off, sputtering to life and slowly gaining speed as it chugged along the tracks heading north. The train horn blared.

"To New York!" the conductor shouted.


End file.
